I can’t afford therapy, but the vape is $20 and sometimes it actually does put me back together tearing apart the delicate tissues of my lungs in the process. Sex is easy. Love is hard. Don’t ever equate the two no matter how tied they seem. Sex is not love. Love does not require sex.
I am trying to find intimacy that is not sexual, but New York really is full of phony, fake, dumb, boring, stupid, lazy, clout chasing, brain rotten, ugly, vile, evil participants to a system that kills more people and animals and beautiful beings than we could ever comprehend. I believe we are on a path to mutually assured destruction. I really believe that. Most people are content with that. Or paralyzed by it. Or powerless. Or piecing themselves together the best they can – sometimes ruining their lungs in the process.
So, where am I? Am I really going to spend my days coding and coddling myself? Will you save the world, R Studio? Hah!
My purpose is unknown to me, so when I said in that song that I was on firm ground I was lying. When I call myself an interdisciplinary artist, I am lying. When you called me a scientist, you lied. When 67 people die in an aircraft collision, someone is lying.
I wonder what hurts me the most: the lies I tell you or the lies I tell myself? Lies are funny. What if we make them true? Could we? Please?
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